


Five Times Peter Parker Doesn’t Need To Be Spider-Man To Be A Hero

by TheSecretUchiha



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1, Abuse of Authority, Gen, Peter doesn't need a mask to be a hero, Social Issues, Tony just wishes he'd not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecretUchiha/pseuds/TheSecretUchiha
Summary: And the one time Spider-Man is the one who needs to be saved.(Featuring Tony Stark cleaning up after him.)





	1. Authority

**Author's Note:**

> This has been one of my 'fun' (despite the subject matter) fics to just write. I have the first two chapters done, and the rest planned out but it'll just be written as and when I need breaks from Breathe. (The next chapter of which should be out tomorrow.)  
> It's going to deal with current social issues, some more prominent right now than others. Because I can just imagine Peter coming face to face with some of the problems and just saying no, he's not going to let that happen.
> 
> Tags will be updated as the fic progresses but I'll try to remember to give warnings at the start of each chapter.  
> Lastly, I'm not American, but I do stay up to date with a lot of the problems occurring there. I researched quite a bit to try and get this as accurate as possible, but if anything stands out to you as strange, treat it as a work of fiction.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Police violence (not too intense), discrimination.  
> Summary: Peter has white male privilege and he'll use it.

It’s a beautiful summer evening, the sun dipping lazily towards the horizon and streaking the sky with blood reds and vibrant oranges. Peter’s walking beside May, enjoying the warm breeze in the July air with a stomach full of Mexican food when he hears it start.

Shouting.

Some of it is aggressive but most of it sounds scared, the sort he tends to associate with robberies and assaults. They’re already at the corner to the street the dispute is happening on, so he peers around to judge the situation, fully prepared to sprint for the nearest alley to at least pull his mask on before intervening.

When he looks, however, it’s not the scene he expected.

There’s a group of people at the curb, the ones making the most noise. A few have their phones out, some are crying, but they’re all shouting at the trio in the centre of the group.

Two police-officers and an African American man, being pulled forcefully towards a squad car.

“I didn’t do anything! You can’t arrest me, I’ve done nothing wrong. Why are you arresting me?”

His shouts are cut off when he’s slammed into the hood of the car with a bang, the group watching screaming in outrage and shifting forward slightly as if to act, falling back when the second police-officer turns to glare at them, a hand resting threateningly on his gun.

Peter’s pushing through the crowd before he even realises he’s moved.

He steps forward with his hands raises to show their empty, and as calm an aura he can manage with his heart thudding like a drum in his chest.

“Hello officer, I was just walking past and-”

“Keep walking kid, don’t get involved,” the officer growls, his moustache bristling.

Peter ignores him, “Are you arresting that man?”

“What do you think?” the man sneers, and just for that Peter’s going to call him Vernon.

“Do you have a reason to arrest him?”

Peter almost hopes he’ll say yes, so that the problem will be solely related to brutality, rather than adding more levels of abuse of authority, but Vernon goes still for a minute, glaring darkly straight into Peter’s eyes and he can only gulp and stare straight back.

“He’s not being arrested,” he finally concedes.

“Do you have a reason to detain him then?” Peter presses, and he notices at the same time that the crowd behind him – the man’s family, he can only guess – has gone silent beyond a few choked sobs.

Whatever he says, Peter already knows it’s going to be a lie from the way his eyes dart back and forth, as if searching for the answer. Even if he didn’t already know, when Vernon opens his mouth and claims “The owner of this house complained he had been loitering,” the explosion behind him and the own man’s vehement “This is _my house_!” tells him enough.

His spidey-senses give him a second’s warning before the young man on his left shifts forward with intent, and Peter has to stretch his arm slightly further to hold him back, not showing the slightest hint of how much effort the man is putting into pushing past him.

“Perhaps there’s been some kind of mix-up, officer?” Peter offers lightly but the sound of handcuffs clicking into place tells him they aren’t going to just let this go.

The second officer, might as well call him Dudley so they match, starts to pat the guy down, starting with the outside of his legs and then moving up, searching the pockets of the light jacket he’s wearing and then the same for his jeans.

“Hey, man, what’s your name?” Peter calls, trying to keep his voice as light as he can.

The man doesn’t answer so he turns his head slightly, asking the same question over his shoulder.

At first, nobody answers, then a small voice from directly behind him pipes up, “Michael.”

It must be a small girl, no older than ten he’d guess from the voice, but he doesn’t dare turn around to check.

“Ok, Michael, you need to say ‘I do not consent to this search’ nice and clear if you don’t agree to it, ok?”

His lip is bleeding, probably bitten through when he was slammed into the car, and Vernon is cursing him out for ‘assisting a criminal’ but Peter can still easily make out Michael’s proclamation, and he’s sure the videos will catch it too.

Only a second after he’s finished, Dudley finishes his pat down, and hoists him up from the car by his wrists, escorting him towards the rear door of the car while starting to recite his rights.

“Peter,” May’s voice calls and she’s so concerned that he turns to reassure her at just the wrong moment.

The antsy man to Peter’s left lunges forward, taking a large threatening step towards the closest police officer before Peter’s reflexes kick in and his arm whips out to grab him by the back of his hoodie, hauling him back to the curb and tossing him on his ass.

It’s too late though because Vernon’s already drawn his gun, pointing aggressively towards the group with a finger on the trigger. The group screams but thankfully nobody moves.

The small girl starts crying and as much as Peter doesn’t want to move from in front of her, he slides quickly to the left, to stand between Vernon and the hot-head.

“Let’s all stay calm,” he tries, voice wobbling slightly because while he’s sure he could survive a gunshot much better than most people, he isn’t exactly keen on trying it anytime soon.

“Down on the ground, both of you!” Vernon cries, spit flying from his mouth as Dudley comes back around, ready to pull his own gun in an instant.

Peter doesn’t dawdle or try to talk things out any more, he drops to his knees, keeping his hands in the air even when his arms start to burn.

He prays the other man will follow his lead, but Vernon’s still got his gun pointed, shakily over Peter’s head, eyes intent.

“Just do it, Kevin,” a woman screams behind him and, a long second later, Peter hears knees touching the ground.

Dudley approaches quickly after that, first to Kevin and a few minutes later to Peter, a pair of handcuffs tightened rather painfully around his wrists. Only then does he look away, glancing over the heads of the silent group to meet May’s frightened eyes.

“Call Tony,” he says and gets a shove in the back for it, but May nods swiftly, already pulling her phone out. “Could I ask your name and badge number, officer?” he queries lightly, as if making small talk rather than being arrested.

“Move.”

He steps forward, lowering himself into the car when prompted and then the doors are slammed closed, and he sits silently, not letting any of the internal panic of actually being arrested show.

 

He gets some odd looks when they’re escorted into the station and he realises how out of place he must look – tiny, white, skinny Peter in a nerdy science t-shirt, behind two built African-American men, Michael with a shirt covered in dollar signs, and Kevin, ironically, with the words ‘Fuck the Police’ printed across his chest.

They’re separated slightly, each taken to a different desk. A new officer looks him over, a look of slight puzzlement mixed with disappointment, obviously having seen too many young offenders.

Peter offers him a nervous smile which just makes the man sigh again.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter Parker.”

“What you here for?”

He seems much more kind and sincere than Vernon and Dudley did, but Peter also knows the best option right now is not to speak.

“I don’t want to speak to you,” he says as politely as he can, and the officer just nods in understanding.

Peter sits back, glancing curiously around the room before resigning himself to just watching the officer fill in paperwork. He wonders what the next step of the process is, he doesn’t think he’s technically been arrested yet…

Hopefully Tony’s got his message already. The drive to the station took about ten minutes, and it’s at least thirty minutes from the Tower, if he’s even in the city tonight… probably not. Peter sighs, definitely at least another hour until he…

His ears twitch, the enhanced hearing picking up a familiar sound quickly approaching but he can’t quite place it.

It sounds like an engine, but…

He twists in his chair fast enough for his back to crack, but just in time to see the front doors of the station pushed open.

It’s not Tony Stark that walks in.

It’s _Iron Man._

The whole station stutters to a stop as the gleaming red and gold suit walks through the door and, only when it reaches the front desk, opens to allow Mr Stark to step out.

He’s dressed in a business suit so sharp it could cut diamonds, and his F.R.I.D.A.Y. enabled shades. He has the most terrifying frown on his face as he scans the room.

For a second, Peter is tempted to duck and hide under the desk, but he gulps down the fear and raises a hand, or two, when he remembers they’re still handcuffed together.

“Uh, hey Mr Stark…”

Nobody even tries to stop him as he strides around the front desk to stand protectively right beside Peter, a hand placed reassuringly on his shoulder.

“Get those cuffs off him, right now,” he orders the gobsmacked officer. “Everything about the arrest of Peter and the men with him was so illegal I don’t even need my lawyers here to rip it to pieces. So you’re going to take the handcuffs off all three of them, apologise for your mistakes, and then I’m going to take Peter home because he has a Spanish test tomorrow that he hasn’t finished studying for.”

The hand on his shoulder tightens, but Peter leans into it, feeling very reassured and protected by Tony’s assertions.

“M-Mr Stark, I’m sorry but the officers in charge of the… the arrest haven’t even written up their accounts yet, so…”

Peter feels a bit sorry for the officer, he’d been nothing but nice, if a bit apathetic, to him and now he has to deal with a furious Tony Stark.

“Well, lucky for you, I have seen it all; the whole thing is on Twitter already and already racking up thousands of views but I guess that’s unsurprising when retweeted by Iron-Man himself. Oh look,” he pulls out his StarkPhone and turns it to show the screen, “Commissioner O’Neill has already responded saying that there’ll be a ‘thorough investigation into the choices made by these officers’ and an ‘immediate pardon for the young man who took a stand against injustice and tried to calm the situation with his words’. You hear that? Immediate pardon, as in from right now. Not that he even needs a pardon, I think a grovelling apology is more suitable just now but we’ll accept that at a later date.”

There’s a long, tense pause as the officer flounders under Mr Stark’s piercing glare until another voice cuts in.

“Take off the cuffs, Officer Lewins,” a tall, lean man with grey-speckled hair and two gold bars on his uniform says.

“Yes Captain,” Lewins sighs in relief, immediately reaching for a set of keys and releasing the metal cuffs from around Peter’s wrists.

The skin is slightly red but Peter knows it’ll heal quickly. Tony, however, frowns, snapping a picture of them before Peter can pull them back.

“On behalf of my officers, I apologise for whatever occurred to cause this situation, Mr Stark” the Captain offers, clearly choosing his words carefully, without a clear idea of what actually happened, “And Mr…” he trails off, looking to Peter and Peter would quite happily have offered his name and his hand if Mr Stark hadn’t tugged him into his side.

“He has nothing to say. We’ll be leaving now.”

“Of course, Mr Stark. I’m sorry this took you away from your busy schedule. I hope your support of the force will not be impacted in any way.”

Mr Stark snorts at the obvious brown-nosing, but doesn’t offer a reply, favourably or otherwise, as he starts to steer Peter to the door.

He takes a step then digs his feet in causing Tony to look down questioningly.

“What about them?” Peter whispers just loud enough for Mr Stark, and only him, to hear.

“My lawyers will arrive shortly to discuss the other two men involved, and the status of the two officers involved,” he says with a glance at the Captain, then a short nod to Michael and lingering gaze at Kevin.

When he pulls Peter towards the door, he goes willingly this time, the Iron-Man suit disintegrating back to nano-particles as they pass.

Happy is already waiting outside, but Mr Stark stops him on the steps down from the precinct, pulling him into an unexpected hug. It feels almost desperate.

“Don’t put yourself in front of a gun like that ever again, alright Pete? You almost gave your beautiful Aunt a heart attack!”

Peter thinks that maybe it was Tony who almost had a heart attack, but he doesn’t call him out on it, returning the embrace just as tightly instead.

He does the same with May when he gets home, letting her cry into his hair. He doesn’t apologise though, even though he knows how much he hurt her and reminded her of Ben, because he’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to – it was the right thing to do.

 

When he walks into school the next day, the halls burst into applause and cheers.


	2. Red Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going AWOL for a while, I guess I needed a break? I did a lot of work on my original novel though instead! Working on the next chapter of Breathe again now so with any luck it'll be out tomorrow. Thank you for all the responses to the first chapter of this fic! YOu guys are the best! <3
> 
> Chapter Warnings - physical and sexual assault (quickly thwarted)  
> See end of chapter for a more details about the warning, if you're concerned, and the themes of this chapter.

Peter’s already running late for his curfew, and undoubtedly in for another lecture about it from May, when he tumbles past the alleyway. There’s a worn bag at the mouth of it, and even his improved balance and dexterity can’t stop him from tripping over it when he doesn’t even notice it’s there until his toes get tangled in the strap.

He tucks into a neat roll, springing back to his feet and pausing momentarily for the cheers in his head for the perfect execution.

He might not have even stopped at the alley if it weren’t for that poorly placed bag and his over-active imagination.

But he does.

Just long enough to hear the sound of fabric being torn. He’s unfortunately familiar with it now, after all the times he’d accidentally torn through his own clothes before he acclimatised to his strength, and then all the times he’d been a bit too enthusiastic in changing into his Spidey suit.

This sound though is followed by a whimper, and Peter ducks back to peer into the alley, desperately hoping he won’t see what he thinks he will…

He does.

He watches, taking in the scene as the man unbuckles his belt and reaches for his fly. He’s scruffy but not in the sort of way that makes Peter think of a man whose fallen on hard times, but more of a young college kid who doesn’t care enough about his appearance. It takes Peter a second to take in everything he can see of the man, and he turns his gaze quickly to the woman.

Any hope that this is some sort of raunchy hook-up between two people with an exhibitionism kink vanishes, and he rushes into the alley and slams into the man, dragging him away with barely any attempt at restraining his strength. The man goes skidding along the trash-strewn ground, and Peter places himself firmly between the man and the woman, his chest heaving, not with exertion but uncontrollable anger.

He hears the woman behind him slipping down the wall, terrified sobs falling from her lips even though she’s clearly trying to hold them back.

Peter doesn’t take his eyes of the man who slowly staggers back to his feet, curses dropping from his tongue as quickly as the blood pours from his mouth.

“Who’re the fu-ck’r you?” the man slurs, trying to take a step towards Peter, but instead ending up leaning into the wall for support. Of course, he’s absolutely wasted. Peter has zero sympathy for him, he just hopes he’s not some ace swimmer with a bright future ahead of him…

He tries to push himself upright, but the roll must have discombobulated him because whatever motor-control he had before Peter’s tackle is completely gone and he ends up slumped in a pitiful heap.

Only when he’s sure the man won’t be getting up any time soon does Peter finally turn around and slowly approach the woman.

He stops and crouches beside her, leaving a good two feet between them.

“It’s going to be ok, Miss. I won’t let him touch you again.”

He can’t tell if she is even listening to him; her face is tucked into her knees, arms wrapped tightly around them to become as small as possible.

“It’s ok now, he’s unconscious, I won’t leave you alone. Do you want to tell me your name?” he asks gently but there’s no response.

“Is there anyone I can call?” he tries, then, “Can I touch your shoulder?”

He wants to offer her some comfort, but instead the question provokes a violent headshake and a small shuffle sideways, to put more space between them.

“It’s ok, I won’t touch you,” he promises quickly, “I’m just going to wait here with you, until you’re ready to move, ok?”

He doesn’t expect any response this time, but after a few moments thought, she gives the slightest of nods.

Peter doesn’t move from where he’s crouched, not even when his legs start to tingle, then burn from staying in the same position for too long. He does take the chance to send May a quick text to reassure her he’s fine, just held up helping someone, but he ignores all the ones she sends in return – he can explain it better in person.

Then, he waits.

He spares a glance or two at the unconscious douchebag but trusts that his hearing will pick up any movements quick enough, so keeps his attention on the woman in front of him.

“You’re just a kid…” The words come after a good half hour of silence, long enough that Peter’s started to phase out, mentally reviewing facts for his chemistry test the next day.

“I’ll be sixteen in a month,” he replies but there’s zero vehemence behind the words because he knows he’s simply proving her own point.

“It must be past midnight by now, don’t you have a curfew or something?” Her voice grows a bit more confident by focusing on him.

“I do, but I texted my aunt, she knows I’ll be late.”

“Well, you’d best get home before she worries anymore,” she says, tone forcefully light as she uncurls slightly to stretch her legs out and straighten her back, as if they hadn’t just sat in silence for over half an hour.

Peter can’t help the way his eyes immediately trail down to the blossoming bruises around her throat. He’s become much too used to reassuring victims from behind a mask because there’s zero subtlety in the way his eyes narrow angrily at the sight.

It’s only made worse when she flinches, reflexively bringing her hands up to cover the marks and inadvertently revealing the bands of purple appearing around her wrists too.

He forces himself to relax and meet her eyes again with a gentle smile, “I’ll go home soon, but I’d rather make sure you get to the police station safely first.”

For some reason she startles slightly at that, then tries to cover it up with a warm smile – he’s almost believe it if there were any reason to smile right now, “It’s fine, your aunt is probably waiting up for you, you don’t want her to worry more than she has to.”

He waves away her concern, “It’s fine, the nearest station is just a ten minute walk away, and heading towards my apartment anyway so I can – oh!”

Tears are pouring down her face, a hand covering her mouth as she suddenly breaks and Peter doesn’t even get the chance to offer to give her physical support before she’s falling into his chest. They’re almost the same height, so she has to curl in on herself again to press into him. He raises one arm, gently patting her shoulder, keeping the touch soft and his arm loose to avoid making her feel trapped.

“Shhh,” he whispers, “You’re ok. He won’t hurt you again, they’ll lock him up and-”

“I can’t go to the police,” she cries through her tears, “I can’t… they’ll ask what I was doing, and… I…”

The words get stuck in her throat. Her fingers curl into his light jacket.

“Were you doing something illegal?” he prompts softly, and the long hesitation before she responds is answer enough, her reluctant nod just a formality.

“Did you kill someone?” he asks, and it’s shocking enough for her to look up, her expression genuinely horrified.

“No! I couldn’t! I wouldn’t…”

Peter nods, smiling at her now that he has her attention, “Whatever you were doing, there’s no justification for what he did to you, do you understand?”

Her head ducks again, as if to avoid his words so he tries again, “No matter what anyone says, it’s your body and nobody else has any right to it in any way.”

“They won’t think that,” she mumbles and it takes him a moment to realise she’s talking about the police.

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asks.

There’re huge wet patches soaking through his t-shirt where her face is pressed that grow bigger after that question.

“Because… b-because… I really need money,” she admits, and Peter absolutely does not follow. “I’ve got a year left of college, but I have so much debt I can’t afford rent or food or books and I’m working two part time jobs and it’s not enough, so I thought if I just… I thought I could…”

The end of the sentence disappears into a series of sobs but Peter can extrapolate from what she’s said. His arms wrap tighter around her instinctively, holding her both carefully and firmly until she runs out of tears.

“It’s your body,” he tells her again, even more sincerely this time, “and nobody else has any right to it in any way. No matter what you do, you always have the right to say no.”

 

It’s another half hour before she calms down again, but this time she wipes the tears from her eyes with a resolute nod.

“I’m not going to talk to the police,” she tells him firmly, and there’s nothing Peter can do to convince her, he’s sure, so he just nods as well.

“That’s fine, but I’m still going to walk you home, alright?”

Her expression is a bizarre mix of relieved and reluctant, “It’s a twenty minute walk from here…”

“Not too far then,” Peter says chirpily and gestures her out of the backalley.

They’ve only just turned the corner onto the street when Peter stops, smacking himself in the forehead, “Sorry, I left my bag! Wait right here for two seconds,” he calls, already running back into the alley.

There’s a strange _thwip thwip_ that almost has her moving back to look but then he pops up again, bag on back and a gentle hand and soft smile beckoning her forward.

“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” he introduces himself, looking expectantly to her for a similar introduction.

“I’m Roxanne,” she says, but doesn’t offer any more information.

They start walking, luckily in vaguely the same direction as his flat too.

“Which college do you go to?” Peter asks suddenly, grasping at the first topic for discussion he can to try to distract her brain.

“Brooklyn Law, it’s… amazing. I want to be a lawyer and help as many people as I can.”

“Sounds like a great aim.”

“What about you? Do you want to go to college”? she asks, and it’s clear she also wants something to distract her mind as they walk along the dark roads, taking the lead slightly to guide him towards her apartment.

“I’m thinking about M.I.T.,” he admits.

Most people respond to that with cautions about getting his hopes up and the competitiveness of places at the college. Roxanne gives him a concerned glance, “That’s big money, you looked into scholarships yet?”

Peter shrugs, “I have, but… I’ve got something like a sponsor, I guess you’d call him; a family friend that wants me to go and has offered to pay whatever I can’t.”

Roxanne’s eyebrows shoot up in awe, “Got anymore of those family friends lying around?” she jokes

“He’s somewhere between a family friend and a dad, so maybe let’s go with excentric uncle… not the only one of those I’ve got, but the only filthy rich one I’m afraid. Give me a few minutes and I’ll give the King of Wakanda a ring though,” he snickers – she doesn’t need to know that he could actually do that; she wouldn’t believe him and, frankly, Peter sometimes doesn’t believe himself either.

“This is me,” she says once the snickers have died away. Peter looks up to see a moderately maintained apartment block. She turns to face him straight on, “Thank you, for everything you’ve done tonight. I can’t even… You really saved me,” she settles on in the end.

“Will you go back out again?” Peter asks, because he can’t just leave without knowing.

She doesn’t need to say anything when she quickly breaks eye contact with him to look to the floor. “Not anytime soon,” she promises, “But when there’s no other options…”

“Be safe,” is all he says in response, and with one last smile, he turns to start making his own way home, promising himself that he’ll keep a close eye on the neighbourhood, both as Spider-Man and as Peter Parker, until he can make another option.

 

 

Ten days later…

 

_Miss Roxanne Kelvin,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your tuition fees for this year and your final year, should you pass your exams and decide to continue at Brooklyn Law School, have been paid in full by Anonymous. No further payments are required from you._

_Good luck in your studies and future endeavours._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_M Hawkley, Student Finances._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - a woman is being attacked by a man who starts to tear at her clothes and unbuckle his belt. Peter fights him off.
> 
> Originally the theme was just women, but then I decided I would specify it into sex workers, and then tied in the problems facing people who want a higher education too, as I thought they all linked together quite well. It's not my best work but I hope you like it anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> Let me know your thoughts! <3


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